


the scent of you

by lyryk (s_k)



Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2012-07-04
Packaged: 2017-11-09 04:24:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_k/pseuds/lyryk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Amy, who asked for a post-Mary Tosh+Jack friendshippy-type thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the scent of you

‘Let me go,’ Tosh says, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.

Across the desk, Jack merely raises an eyebrow. ‘Your contract is for five years, Toshiko.’

‘You made the contract,’ she says, desperate. ‘You can change it. It was just a deal between us. Please.’

He stands, too tall, too large to fit into the space around him. He leans on the desk, palms flat against the table, and she’s struck by how much larger his hand is than hers. He could take both her hands easily in one of his, crush them like eggshells with no effort at all.

‘Is that what you really want?’ he says.

‘I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.’ It takes her all her courage to say it. Lisa’s death is all too recent. She remembers Ianto on his knees, Jack’s gun to his head. She’s pre-empting that, asking for a way out before her punishment is meted out.

Jack holds her gaze for a long moment before he speaks. ‘I can’t let you go free. You leave Torchwood, you go back to UNIT. That’s the deal.’

She stares up at him in stunned disbelief.

‘That’ll be all,’ he says, sitting back down and reaching for a folder, not looking at her at all. He touches his comm. ‘Ianto, a word, please?’ Tosh knows she’s been summarily dismissed.

 

\--

 

She stands in the corridor, back pressed to the wall. Her flat is just around the corner. It should be easy, so easy, to turn the corner, to walk up to the door and turn the key. The action should be familiar enough to be comforting; she should be able to allow herself to see her flat as a safe place. But it isn’t, and the thought of going in there is as nerve-wracking as having to step into a room with unknown horrors in it. Absurdly, she thinks of all the B-grade horror films in which the audience yells and throws things at the screen to prevent a character from opening the door to certain death. Usually by evisceration that’s accompanied by long, pain-filled screams.

She pictures the flat. The bedroom with its sheets still rumpled, smelling of Mary and her. The unwashed coffee cups in the kitchen, their rims crusted with the remains of the too-strong expressos that Mary liked to drink. The ashtray beside the bed, overflowing with ash and butts, because Mary liked to smoke when Tosh went down on her. The feel of those moments, with Mary’s flesh warm and wet and slippery beneath her tongue, Mary’s fingers in her hair, the smell of smoke and arousal sharp and hot and exciting, filling up the bedroom.

She inhales deeply and walks to her front door, hands clutching her purse tightly, heels clacking hollowly against the floor.

 

\--

 

She hasn’t been out of the shower long when there’s a knock on the door. Not too loud, but firm, expectant.

Jack holds out a paper bag, and the smell of curry makes her stomach twinge. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,’ he says. ‘Wanna share?’

She stands half-hidden behind the door for a moment, conscious of her ratty old robe and the faded towel wrapped around her hair, and then opens the door wider to let him in.

They eat out of the disposable containers, sipping white wine from a half-empty bottle she digs out of the fridge. 

‘I won’t let you go,’ Jack says after several minutes. ‘You’re too valuable.’

She says nothing, taking another bite of basmati rice drenched in spicy-red coconut gravy. 

‘There’s nothing out there for you, Toshiko,’ Jack says then. ‘Nothing that’ll make you feel better. Nothing to run away to. Believe me, I know.’

Tosh shrugs. ‘I’ll stay,’ she says. ‘And anyway, it’s not like I have a choice.’

‘You don’t,’ he agrees, reaching over, his big warm hand enveloping hers. ‘But it gets better.’

They both know he’s lying, but she squeezes his hand and gives him a small smile anyway.


End file.
